Patrice
Leconte's Monsieur Hire is a deeply
affecting portrait of the dark side of obsession. Monsieur Hire (Michel
Blanc) is a lonely, middle-aged tailor who has taken up the rather
depraved pastime of watching his beautiful neighbor, Alice (Sandrine
Bonnaire). Observing his demeanor, one can hardly call him a voyeur.
It is as if he is more intrigued with the idea that she has a life,
than what she is actually doing (There is a scene where he steps away
from the window at an intimate moment). One stormy evening, she realizes
that he is watching her, and the psychological game begins. Meanwhile,
a young woman has been murdered, and a taxi driver has seen a nondescript
man running toward the courtyard of the apartment complex. The police
immediately suspect the inscrutable Monsieur Hire. He is subjected
to the humiliating exercise of recreating the eyewitnessed episode
in front of his neighbors. He takes solace in Alice, who finally confronts
him, but quickly forgives him, and seems to enjoy his company. Can
she save him from his loneliness? Can he, at last, find happiness?

Leconte
uses extremely wide angles for his character close-ups. Note the high
aspect ratio of the subject to the screen. The effect is highly claustrophobic.
It is as if we, ourselves, are voyeurs, watching his life unfold (or
rather, disintegrate) before us. Perhaps we can see a subtle facial
expression amidst his dour countenance that will explain his thoughts...
or betray his heart. This technique expounds on the film's plot: as
Monsieur Hire watches Alice, the police and his neighbors watch him.
The story illustrates a sad truth: society's cruelty to people who
do not conform. Monsieur Hire is a
moving and subtly unsettling film, as profound in its message as it
is thoroughly engrossing.

Adele
(Vanessa Paradis) recounts with resigned acceptance to a clinical
psychologist her history of failed, impulsive relationships and run
of bad luck. She is uncertain about the future, waiting for the elusive
something to happen, and her instinctive response is to escape
the absurdity of her situation. One evening, she stands on a bridge,
mustering enough courage to jump, when she is approached by Gabor
(Daniel Auteuil) with an intriguing proposition. Gabor is an experienced
knife-thrower who recruits potential suicides to serve as assistants
for his cabaret act. If the routine is successful, she will be fairly
compensated. If he misses, Gabor will only be facilitating her own
decision to end her life. For reassurance, Gabor further reveals that,
at times, he has intentionally missed (or rather, hit his target)
when he senses that an assistant's despair is beyond hope. The collaboration
proves to be mutually beneficial, as Gabor and Adele begin to tour
their popular act throughout Europe, often varying the routine with
curtains, roulette wheels, or closed eyes. Soon, a profound connection
develops between Gabor and Adele, communicating with each other across
great distances and noisy casinos. But as the couple consummate their
visceral attraction through intimately close and increasingly reckless
knife throws, can they demonstrate their love without introducing
an element of danger?

Patrice Leconte creates a visually intoxicating and highly sensual
film on love, risk, and chance in The Girl
on the Bridge. Using stylized short takes and frenetic jump
cuts, Leconte reinforces the action of a thrown knife to create tension
and charged energy, which, in turn, reflect Gabor and Adele's dangerous
attraction. The surreal, carnival atmosphere of the film, reminiscent
of Federico Fellini, creates
a state of heightened, altered reality that thematically juxtaposes
chance and desire. Note the affair that develops between Adele and
the contortionist (Frederic Pfluger) after winning at a slot machine,
and the recurring imagery of the roulette wheel that transforms from
a simple gambling device to Gabor's ultimate game of chance. The result
is an exquisitely realized and thoroughly engrossing film that presents
love as both a literal and figurative consequence of risk, fate, courage...
and, above all, complete trust.